Time Well Spent III: Now is all I have

In my first post on Time Well Spent, I attempted to discern how my vacation should be spent. I saw it as a liminal space, special in its potential to give me insight I wouldn't otherwise receive. To facilitate this, I determined a priori that my vacation would be about "rest" and came to define "rest" as reflection and rejuvenation. It quickly became clear that a discussion on the significance of rest was only a part of a larger discussion on the significance of time.

In light of the nuances in how time could be perceived, approaching rest as solely reflection and rejuvenation seemed incomplete. I had thought my definition was cool and counter-cultural because it was in opposition to our future time oriented culture. But as I took a critical look at how I viewed time, I realized that if this vacation really was a liminal space, something key was still missing.

I was introduced to the concept of liminal space as a wide-eyed freshman by David Palumbo-Liu, a Comparative Literature professor. My favorite thing about Prof. Palumbo-Liu (other than his name!) was how he would define words with analogy and metaphor rather than simple description. A master of words, he knew the limitations of language in conveying ideas and he would attempt to overcome this by using literature, building complex images and stories around words to free them from their uni-dimensional dictionary definition. I'll never forget the example Prof. Palumbo-Liu used to illustrate liminality: standing on the sill of a doorway. You are not inside the house, you are not outside the house, you are not in a mixture of inside and outside the house. You are in a different place altogether, a third space. It is small; temporary; usually stepped over; but it is a unique space in its own right, with its own distinct characteristics.

I love that metaphor. I am immediately transported to the doorway. I look behind me to the house I've left. The floormat at the entrance smiles weakly, its colors long faded out by the constant trampling of once little feet, now grown. The frayed ivory curtains gently blow goodbye. I look before me to the world I will enter. A slight breeze, welcoming the Fall, causes the last of the chickory to dance. Their sky blue a quivering reflection of the clear skys on a sea of green fields. Past. Future. All that was. All that will be.

But what of that which is? Where is the present?

My eyes roam everywhere. Except the doorway I stand in. Everywhere, except the browned sill beneath my feet. Everywhere, except the chipped door frame by my side. The doorway whispers stories of its own. Wood serated by years of comings and goings. Paint chipped by a door slammed in rage, excitement, frustration or just a rush. The liminal space has stories of its own, stories I will most likely never hear over the din of my preoccupation what was and what will be. Rest is an invitation not just to look back and forward but also to simply look around; to reacquaint myself with where I am and who I am right now.

There is a sad irony in the fact that I need some set apart time called "vacation" to do this. Another word for that liminal space between what was and what will come, that space that allows us to just be, is simply the present. The past, while important to reflect and learn from, is always gone. The future, while important to prepare and plan for, is never here yet. Our life is lived in the doorway (or more accurately, a lifetime of doorways) and yet we spend most of it alternating between the past and the future, running the risk of a life unlived. Reflecting on the liminality of the present elevates the now to a new level of value, forcing me to be still and acknowledge that what is, never was and will never be again; Now is the only thing I truly have, thank you for sharing it with me - across time and space.

If this concept still feels beyond reach, you are not alone. If time orientation research is correct, none of us find this appreciation for the now natural. Those with a future time orientation behave as if now is only a barrier between them and the future. Those with a past time orientation perceive the now as in no way distinct from the past, offering no more than space to reflect back. Those with a present time orientation would seem to have it easiest because they do find it easier to live in the doorway. However, as a recovering victim of a present time orientation, I can testify that we tend to have the hardest time with conceiving of time as something of intrinsic value, a vital factor in appreciating now. Prof. Zimbardo, the celebrated psychologist who made quite a splash with his exploration of time orientations, divided those of us with present time orientations into two groups: hedonists (who impulsively live for present pleasure) and fatalists (who are resigned to the status because they don't believe what they do matters at all). This is ironic because the fatalist sees no value in time or at least their engagement with it, past, present or future while the hedonist's insatiable desire to fill the present with pleasure reveals a disregard for the present in its own right.

So, starting from all manner of perspectives, orientations, cultures we end up at the same place. Learning how to value what we have, as we have it. With each other, and those who've gone before us, for light along the way.